


Liminal

by noero



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Bottom Lance (Voltron), M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 08:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20672048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noero/pseuds/noero
Summary: "You’re in love and it’s seriously disgusting.""I am notin lovePidge," Lance flips his phone to his other ear and reaches for a bag of potato chips to pile on top of the two bottled sodas already cradled in his free arm. "It's just been... I dunno. We've been stuck in a car together for two entire days and it hasn't been completely miserable, y'know?  I mean, he's kinda fun.Kinda."Or, the one where Keith and Lance hook up during a road trip.





	Liminal

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be one scene in a much longer fic I outlined last year but I ran out of energy when the series ended. I’m trying to slowly re-immerse myself because I still love these idiots... even if I’ve lost most of my enthusiasm for the series. 
> 
> And since I don’t think I’ll ever finish this fic the way I originally intended (kinda waited so long I forgot a lot of the details) I tried my best to work this scene in a way that it can stand alone. Hope it’s enjoyable at least!

"You’re in love and it’s seriously disgusting."

"I am not _in love_ Pidge," Lance flips his phone to his other ear and reaches for a bag of potato chips to pile on top of the two bottled sodas already cradled in his free arm. "It's just been... I dunno. We've been stuck in a car together for two entire days and it hasn't been completely miserable, y'know? I mean, he's kinda fun. _Kinda._"

Pidge laughs on the other end of the line. "But he still won't give you the keys, will he?" 

"No! And that's so messed up, right? When am I gonna get another chance to drive a sexy car like that ? It’s not fair! Shiro would never even know! But you know Keith. Totally uncool,” Lance drops his bag of doritos on the way to the cash line and loses his grip the peanut M&Ms when he bends down to pick up the doritos. “Ah man—”

“What are you _doing?_”

“Nothing! I’m shopping. Gathering supplies. Y’know. Helpful road trip navigator stuff.” He circles back to the grocery aisle, giving up the snack hunt for a few minutes so he can rest his arms on an empty shelf and finish his rant. “It’s hard work.”

“I bet,” Pidge answers and she doesn’t sound like she feels sorry for him at all.

This whole thing started because Shiro had taken a new job just outside of San Francisco. He’d moved, gotten settled into a nice townhome in Vallejo and Keith was driving his “just for fun car” up to him (because Shiro was cool enough to have such a thing). The prospect of road trip sounded fun so Lance tagged along. And it’d sounded fun all the way until Keith showed up at his apartment door at 5 AM one day earlier.

Lance sighed. “Did you know we had to stop this afternoon to take a picture of those stupid, giant arrows even though I was starving and we passed two pizza joints — _Two_. And, like, he's not gonna even do anything with those pictures anyway. He's got exactly one picture posted on his Instagram -- _of his dog_ \-- from, like, two years ago. Ridiculous!" 

"Thought you just said said he was fun?"

"I said _kinda_."

There’s some shuffling on the other end before Pidge speaks again. “That’s actually a little weird. Keith’s usually in a hurry to do everything. Did it ever occur to you he might be taking _you_ to see all these tourist-y things?”

Lance scoffs. “Keith? Doing something nice? Only in my dreams.”

“Lance, I’m starting to lose interest in this love-hate thing you’ve got going.”

He huffs and gathers up his soda, chips, along with a bag of gummy bears. He can hear keys clicking away on Pidge’s laptop in the background which signifies she is indeed done listening to him complain. Unfortunately for her, she’s the one that got him all riled up in the first place so she’ll have to deal with it.

“Look. I like Keith. We’re friends. It’s just. He’s still always gotta, like, out _do_ me. He’s gotta be good at _everything_. Did you know he wakes up an actual _ten_? Like, he doesn’t even try. He just looks like that. He slept in the backseat of car _at a truck stop_ last night. And the waitress at the diner we stopped at this morning was _so obsessed_ with him. Like. Totally wanted to ride his dick. It was so gross.” 

Another customer in the store throws Lance a dirty look and he focuses his attention on the rack of California and Arizona travel brochures at the end of the aisle. Pidge only snorts. “You know you sound completely ridiculous, don’t you?”

“I’m being very reasonable.” Lance returns to the refrigerator, deciding against his orange soda. He grabs a cup to make himself an ICEE instead. “We’ll be flying back Sunday instead of Saturday, by the way. He’s dragging me to La Brea tomorrow even though LA is two hours out of our way and we’re already running behind. The fun just never stops.”

"Lance,” Pidge begins, her tone too thoughtful for Lance’s liking. “Keith's always been a better friend to you than you think he is."

"Debatable," Lance insists, trying to find the right balance of cherry and blue raspberry for his Ultimate ICEE. Not that he hadn’t heard the insult mixed into Pidge's words — a dig at younger, dumber Lance who took a lot of things for granted — but he chooses to not care. He’s moved on, OK? 

The cashier, a cute, bottle blonde with a nose ring, only bothers to look up from scrolling her phone when Lance clumsily drops his armload of groceries on the countertop. He leans over, chin on his hand, and smiles at her, with his most genuinely charming smile. She sighs and rolls her eyes, the movement all the more obvious beneath her fake lashes.

Lance turns his gaze toward the questionably old taquitos spinning on the roller grill, mood soured. "So, how's my main man Hunky-Hunk doing?"

“Feeling better,” Pidge answers, distractedly. “He said he’s sorry he couldn’t make it but — don’t worry — I explained why it was good for you and why he shouldn’t be sorry at all.”

“PIdge.”

“You’re welcome, Lance.”

“You’re not thanked.”

See, Hunk was supposed to be _their buffer_ for the trip, which was the only reason Lance agreed to tag along with Keith in the first place. In fact, Keith had invited Hunk — and only Hunk — to be his trusted navigator on the journey through the great American Southwest. 

Or Keith invited Hunk because Shiro insisted he not make the long drive alone and Hunk was chosen purely because Hunk was Keith’s “most tolerable friend” as he’s put in the past. Which hurts, a little. Lance won’t lie. And the fact that Keith still showed up at Lance’s door even after Hunk canceled, instead of just making the trip by himself, leads Lance to conclude it’s the former. 

Whatever.

Lance already took his frustration out in the form of furiously texting Hunk a robust series of distressed emojis to catalog the complex emotional journey he’d gone through when Keith came to pick him up from his apartment _by himself_ saying “Hey, we’re on our own!” like they were about to take a nice stroll in the park. 

All was mostly forgiven within thirty minutes of the initial disaster, but Lance was still gonna give Hunk grief for a few weeks to salvage his pride. What did they take him for anyway? This was almost starting to sound like a setup.

“Yeah, well,” Lance cradles the phone between his shoulder and cheek so he can hand his credit card over to the increasingly annoyed cashier. “Tell him I’m not bringing him any senorita bread, but I’ll be sure and keep him in my thoughts when me and Keith stop by Jollibee.”

"Yeah, yeah. Poor you. Got stuck on a road trip alone with your big, fat gay crush so you two can bond with each other. Must be _soooo_ terrible"

"It _is_ terrible and I _don't_ have a crush! Just because I think he’s kinda-sorta cute in the right lighting and would probably hook up with him if the circumstances were different—"

"Oh my god, Lance. You totally have a crush!" Pidge sounds more exasperated than amused. "That's _exactly_ what having a crush means. You’re such a dumbass.”

“Also debatable.”

“That you’re a dumbass? I don’t think so. Just tell Keith you wanna ride his dick like your waitress. You’ll be fine.”

Lance scowls and grabbed his receipt along with his bag of snacks, tossing a polite nod toward the cashier who’s resumed scrolling through her phone. Yeah, OK. no love here. "I’m hanging up now, Pidge.”

“_Thank God_.” 

He slips through the sliding doors and past the awning just in time to catch the incoming blanket of rain. And, well. So much for beating the weather. 

He can barely see the motel across the street but he spots Shiro’s ‘68 black Mustang parked under the carport. Then he sees the low blue light from the television shining through the window of their room on the second floor. It looks so much further away in the dark than it had when he ran over just before sunset.

Ugh.

If Keith just let him borrow the goddamn keys—

* * *

He’s soaked head to toe by the time he makes it to the door and it’s only after he’s dragged himself up the stairs that he realizes he left his ICEE sitting back on the counter. He is brilliant, after all. Rain probably only falls in Needles, like, once a year or something, so of course it’s happening just as they pass through for the night. Yeah, that sounds right. 

He takes back everything he said about the trip not being totally miserable.

Too tired to circle back to the convenience store, he stumbles through the doorway, water sloshing from his sneakers and onto the dingy carpet. The room is dim, lit only by the TV and table lamp by Keith’s side of the bed. 

Lance clears his throat and kicks off his shoes. “Honey, I’m home.”

Keith glances up from where he’s lounged out on the single double bed, freshly showered and cozy in his (enviously) dry sweatpants. His hair is down, curling over his shoulders the way it does when it’s half dry. And he looks… well he looks like Keith. Cute, but perpetually confused. 

He frowns at Lance, brows drawing together. “What took you so long?”

With a heavy sigh, Lance digs the peanut M&M’s from the bag and tosses them directly at Keith’s face. (Which he catches, naturally). “You’re welcome.”

“Oh.” Keith blinks at the package a few times, like he’s having trouble processing what he’s got. Then he smiles, that real soft smile that makes something twist a little in Lance’s belly. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. No prob,” Lance shrugs, feeling most of his irritation deflate. He pulls his wet sweatshirt over his head. “Know they’re you’re favorite.”

Keith hums a distracted reply and turns his attention to his phone. The theme song from _F.R.I.E.N.D.S._ plays on the TV and Lance groans. (Keith has terrible taste in everything.) Lance realizes he finds it funnier than annoying.

A little stuck in his head, he pads to the bathroom and strips off his jeans and tosses them over the towel rack. He throws his socks on the floor and Keith laughs at something in the other room. The sound reminds Lance of the way he laughed over his burnt coffee at breakfast that morning, sunlight streaming over his face and memories of the Grand Canyon behind them. 

Lance feels like he’s losing time.

He thinks about what Pidge said to him, how Keith might be showing him all this stuff because he thought _Lance wanted to see it_ and it bothers Lance, eats at him a little, and he doesn’t know why. Keith’s definitely the one with this weird obsession with abandoned gas stations in the desert and needs to stop at each and every one…

That’s not a Lance thing.

Well, that’s not a Lance thing _Lance_ would think of. 

He might’ve had fun once they got there but that’s not the same thing. 

_What if they're haunted, Lance?_

_Yeah, Keith. Great point. What if they're fucking haunted? Sounds like a perfectly good reason to stay in the goddamn car._

No. Lance only got out of the car to prove he had the balls to do it. 

And because Keith had a habit of grabbing onto Lance’s shoulder when they heard a creepy sound.

Doesn’t mean it’s Lance’s idea of fun.

Well, except that it does.

So, perhaps Lance does have a little, _tiny_ crush. Keith’s got all that reckless energy crammed into him. Lance is drawn to it, fascinated by it. He was fascinated by it back in high school, though he’d no idea what he wanted to do with it back then. Lance, well, he kinda had a few ideas now. 

He brushes his teeth, takes a piss without shutting the door, and spends a few minutes drying his hair. Anything to not think about the thing he doesn’t want to think about. That whole liking Keith thing. 

Yeah, yeah. He’s thinking about it.

And he’s stalling, he knows he is, but the complicated push and pull of simultaneously not _getting_ Keith and wanting Keith’s hands on him makes him more than a little nervous. 

Not like he has to make a move tonight. It’s just…

He wants to?

There’s a nagging, irrational fear he won’t get another opportunity. He doesn’t know where it comes from.

The timing feels right, strangely enough. There’s just this weird history between them and it’s not the kind of history that naturally transcends into something else. On some level, Lance thinks he should probably just let it go. 

Unfortunately letting things go has never been one of Lance’s strengths.

He strolls out of the bathroom, drier and happier and clad in nothing but his boxers, but Keith barely notices. He’s uninterested, even when Lance plops down on the bed beside him and steals a couple M&M’s. 

And they’re just kinda, y’know, hanging out. And it’s fine. It’s nice. Lance scrolls through his phone, likes Hunk’s status update on Twitter… Then Keith starts to talk. And it’s weird because Lance starts nine out of ten conversations (a solid statistical fact) so this feels relevant.

But then, what he says...

“You talk to Allura lately?”

Lance freezes, fingers instinctively tightening around his phone. He hadn’t expected that question. Not from Keith.

“Uh. Yeah,” Lance lays his phone face down on his chest, trying to figure out where to start. “She, uh, she loves it up in Manhattan. Perfect for her, she fits right in. All the fashion and the shows. I think she’ll finish her PHD in another two years too. She’s doing great.” 

Lance pauses there, hesitating around his next words. He isn’t sure why it’s so hard to say. He and Allura, they’d broken it off a year earlier when the long-distance thing just wasn’t cutting it for either of them. They knew it was the right choice. Never doubted it. Lance still feels that way, but...

Lance clears his throat. “She met someone.”

Keith’s quiet, shifting himself just a fraction so he’s turned a millimeter closer to Lance. It’s a tiny, minuscule little gesture with much bigger implications. They don’t say anything though, just let the soft laugh track from the TV lighten the room. 

Familiar. Easy.

Part of Lance figures Keith _gets it_. On some level, at least. Maybe even more than Lance ever gave him credit for. He remembers how a couple months after Allura packed up and left for NYU that Shiro announced he was engaged. Now he’d moved halfway across the country and Keith acted mostly cool about it, but Lance knew how much it had to hurt. 

Keith never said anything about it, of course... but after things went sour between him and Allura, Lance suddenly saw that sad, tired smile he wore in a whole new light.

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to turn the mood back. A few minutes tick by. On the TV, Chandler is improvising a sales pitch between donuts and bagels and Lance can’t take anymore.

“So, uh,” he breaks the silence. “You seeing anyone right now?”

“No.” Keith frowns, shifting slightly to glare at Lance. “_Why_? Please tell me you’re not trying to set me up again. I will kill you.”

“Ugh, no Keith.” Lance rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. “I learned my lesson after the disaster with that guy from Chem. Who, by the way, I had no way of knowing was a drifter using a fake name. So excuse me for taking an interest in your life and happiness. Just tryin’ to be a good friend.”

“Yeah, you’re a real gift.”

“I am. But. You ever think about, like…” Lance is talking out of his ass now, trying to force the conversation in the direction he wants it. He’s trying to be obvious (like, _Keith_ levels of blunt) without being _obvious_. “You ever think you wanna, y’know, hook up with a friend?”

It gets Keith’s attention at least, strikes him as an odd turn in the conversation. He turns and looks at Lance and they’re close to each other than Lance thought. He can practically see the wheels turning in Keith’s head. His eyes narrow, lips tighten, but he doesn’t _quite_ piece it together.

“You wanna set me up with one of your friends?”

“Keith.” Lance kinda wants to scream. He’s about to torch their friendship. The least Keith can do is let him be courteous. “C’mon. We’ve got all this sexual tension.”

“What sexual tension?”

“Me and you. Sexual tension. Y’know. Between the two of us.”

Keith huffs a tight laugh, eyes never leaving the TV screen. “Are you joking? How do _we_ have sexual tension?”

“My man, we’re here together in a cheap motel, lying in the same bed. It’s late at night and we’re all alone. I mean, I’m in my _underwear_—”

“And yet I’m not even thinking of jumping you,” Keith interrupted. “Sounds like the opposite of sexual tension to me.”

Lance gasped in mock affront (actually, very real affront) tacking on a reproachful “so you say” to make himself sound maybe, kinda petulant. Not that he was surprised by Keith’s reaction. He’d been expecting that, the cool indifference of Keith’s tone, but the words sting anyway. They always do.

But he swallowed down that edge to his wounded pride, and kept on running his giant, stupid mouth because he’s Lance and he can’t ever help himself. “Too bad for you then, mister hotshot, ‘cause _I’m_ thinkin’ ‘bout jumping _you_. And I mean. Have’ta say, I’m kinda worth it.”

And saying it out loud makes him sound so, so desperate and pathetic and stupidly horny but he says it anyway and it’s done. Like, how else is Lance supposed to run his life? Keith’s impossible and Lance is a do-er. This is what he does. All the time. Fuck the consequences. 

Classic Lance, as Keith might say.

All he can do is wait, keep his gaze focused in front of him and allow the silence to weigh on them while wondering how long he has before it was too late to play the words off as a joke. One beat. Two. Lance opens his mouth to laugh his proposition off, to take it back, and—

“Well, you know you can always try to prove me wrong.”

Keith says it with the same bored nonchalance he’s been talking with all night but Lance catches the glaring challenge beneath the words. No one could miss all that, right? No one could miss the soft playfulness of it. Lance turns his head to stare at him, disbelieving, face highlighted in blue from the TV and he catches the subtle edge of Keith’s smile. 

Keith is screwing with him. Or was screwing with him.

Keith probably didn’t think he’d do it. 

Well, in that case.

Lance doesn’t let himself think. He leans over and kisses him, real slow, like they’re gonna be stuck in that motel room for the rest of eternity and never have to face the consequences. They’d finally gotten that real good vibe going and Lance thinks maybe they’re friends and maybe — maybe — they can be _best friends_. Friends that make out. Friends that held hands. Friends that had sex. 

Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. 

Thing was— Well, the thing was that this is the first time he’d ever kissed someone without an expectation of where that kiss should go next. Lance isn’t wondering about a second date. He isn’t worried about moving too fast. He isn’t second guessing whatever he’d done wrong on the first date.

No expectations. No promises. No strings. Easy peasy.

But. 

There’s also this achingly intimate familiarity to kissing someone you’ve known for years, even without all those expectations. There’s something different about kissing someone he’s fought with, had fun with, and who’s shoulder he’s cried on — all under very different circumstances. 

Keith is someone who’s talked Lance up, talked him down, and everywhere in between. He’s refused to laugh when Lance wasn’t being funny and called him out when he did some dumb shit. Keith is someone who knows the ugliest parts of Lance inside and out, never saw him standing on a pedestal... and is kissing him anyway. 

Not easy. Terrifying.

And Lance almost backs off, almost goes into a full-on tailspin because this is suddenly _such_ a bad idea, but Keith’s fingers thread through his hair and he smells so fucking good and Lance has wanted to do this for so long. 

Twenty-four is still young, right? They can still make stupid mistakes. They can still act like dumb kids.

So Lance tucks those doubts away for later, focusing instead on the way Keith’s breath hitches when he starts playing with the drawstring of his sweatpants. 

They’re a thousand miles from home. They aren’t anywhere they’ve ever been before. This feels alright.

And maybe that lack of familiarity in the walls around them makes it all possible. Maybe all that stuff, all that unfamiliarity, is what makes taking that leap into the unknown bearable.

Lance breaks the kiss only to reach over and turn off the table lamp so the room is bathed in only the blue glow of the television. The slow patter of rain continues against the window... and yeah, this feels alright. 

Keith’s smiling at him, eyes softer than usual and watching Lance with a gentle curiosity. Lance kisses him again because it’s nice, the slow kissing. All this time he’d imagined Keith would be an aggressive kisser. Maybe a little sloppy, a little dirty. Not that it’s bad — no siree — just not what Lance expected.

Keith’s always been a little mysterious though. Still half on top of him, Lance dips the pads of thumbs up underneath the hem of his T-shirt. There’s a scar just above Keith’s right hip bone and Lance traces it. He’s seen it a dozen times but never touched it. Always wanted to. 

Then he’s dragging his knuckles over Keith’s crotch, looking, searching, and pleased to find he’s already half-hard. 

Things pick up after that. Lance’s nerves die down. He tugs at Keith’s shirt until Keith is yanking it over his head and then Lance is shoving a hand down Keith’s sweatpants. He’s got his hand around Keith’s length, lets his fingers curl around the shaft as he tests its weight. And… So, uh, Keith is kinda hung. No big deal. Figures, really. 

Lance can work with this. 

“This OK?” he asks, breathy. Lost in the moment.

Keith answers, practically growls, “_Yes_,” and Lance wants him more than ever, wants to pull more noises like that from his throat.

But Keith rolls Lance over, pushes down his boxers, and rubs down Lance’s chest before he finally — finally — gets a hand around Lance’s length. With his chest against Lance’s back Lance can feel the rise and fall of his breath, gets a little lost in it.

Keith angles Lance’s hips slightly upward, snaking one arm beneath Lance’s waist to stroke him while the other reaches under his thighs and soothes its way down his inner thighs to fondle his balls. Two-handed hand jobs, always a winner in Lance’s mind, along with the added benefit of Keith grinding against him. 

He wished he’d taken the ten seconds to strip off Keith’s sweatpants before they’d gotten this far because he could feel it through the fabric, pressing between his ass cheeks where his legs were spread so Keith’s hand could get under him — but _God_ if it was free.

If only he’d bought lube and condoms at the store. What a missed opportunity. Did they even _need_ condoms? Lance was clean. Keith probably was too. And Lance trusted him enough to say something if he wasn’t. 

Not that he was prepped for it, but holy shit if he wouldn’t let Keith fuck him straight into the matress ‘til next Sunday.

He’s moaning, babbling, and he realizes belatedly he might have said some of that out loud. He’s so lost in the slide of Keith’s hands on him, stroking and squeezing and rubbing, that he’s thrown off by the muffled puffs of breath Keith is trying to hide against his skin.

“Are you— Oooh God,” Lance struggles to form a coherent thought. “Are you _laughing_ at me.”

“‘Course not,” Keith grins against his shoulder, the vibrations of his chest suggesting otherwise. He runs his thumb over Lance’s cockhead, squeezing a little tighter to punch any further complaints from Lance’s mind — which works, of course. 

“Good?” Keith asks, innocent. Almost sweet.

“Yes. _You dick_,” Lance grits out. “Faster.”

Keith speeds up the flick of his wrist right on command. “Tell me when you’re getting close, okay?”

Lance nods, a little lost to the sensation of Keith’s bangs tickling his cheek. Keith’s kissing his neck, hitting all the spots along with soft, pleasured little noises like he was getting off just listening to Lance get off. And it’s almost too much, too fast, and he wants it to go on a little longer—

“Keith,” he groans. “I’m gonna…”

Keith’s hands drop free of him and Lance is about to protest but Keith’s repositioning himself between Lance’s legs. He’s bending down to kiss Lance’s thighs, gripping his hips to hold him still, and then his mouth is sliding over Lance’s cock. He sucks him in, flattens his tongue, and bobs his head at just the right speed — just the right angle. 

It happens almost embarrassingly fast. Lance comes into his mouth, fingers digging into the sheets and everything goes a little hazy. 

The first thing Lance is aware of is Keith kissing his inner thighs, moving up to his knees, and running his hands over his calves as he catches his breath. He tangles his hands in Keith’s hair and rubs at his scalp, panting, still wanting something more even after he’s come. 

Keith leans into his touch, eyes dropping shut and Lance talks to him, voice low and desperate, “Tell me what you want,” as he tugs Keith forward.

Keith positions himself next to Lance so they’re lying on their sides, face to face, and it’s painfully intimate but Lance doesn’t care anymore. Keith kisses him with these quick, little breathy kisses but there’s this urgency to his movement, a passion to it, all that reckless energy about to tear through their seams. 

Lance helps maneuver him out of his sweatpants, rolls him onto his back and kisses his jaw. Keith’s eyes stay closed, like he’s a little shy about his own pleasure. Lance hadn’t exactly thought he’d be be a talker or anything, but he also hadn’t planned for this quiet, chaotic little mess Keith was quickly dissolving into.

And he wants to go down on Keith so bad, to feel the full weight of that big cock sitting on his tongue, but Keith wraps his arms around Lance’s shoulders. He keeps Lance caged there over his body. He holds on tight, which isn’t so bad because Lance can see his face. He gets to watch him as he makes those satisfied noises of pleasure.

His brows are furrowed tight, lips parting and eyes screwed shut, panting in short, punctuated little gasps. He’s close, shaking a little, and outright adorable with the way his nails dig into Lance’s back with every upstroke. 

“C’mon baby,” Lance murmurs and regrets it the second he says it because it was cheesy and what a typical _Lance_ thing to say and Keith will hate it and it was stupid and—

It does the trick.

Keith’s mouth falls open, head dipping forward as he mutters half a curse— and he’s coming, a strangled, rasped half cry escaping his lips — and the sound was pitched higher than Lance expected and goddamnit Keith was so fucking hot. And adorable. And the whole thing triggered something in Lance, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Lance was— Protective? Endeared? Jealous that there were actually other people out there in the world somewhere who’d had the opportunity to see Keith come before he did? 

Protective _fit_ but it also felt wrong, like an emotion Lance wasn’t supposed to be having just then. All the while, Keith was coming down from his post-orgasm high, catching his breath, and Lance was just staring kinda dumbly at his hand, covered in Keith’s jizz. Are they? Were they?

He’s like that, not paying attention, when Keith sits up and places a hand on Lance’s face. He turns him, smiles against his lips, and kisses him one more time. Warm, comfortable, and with so much expectation.

Reality dawns on Lance. 

Pidge was right.

Lance is _in love_ and it was seriously disgusting.


End file.
